The ACT Experiment
by Aurora Marie Williams
Summary: Previously Angel With a Shotgun, now The A.C.T. Experiment: The time Thomas spent in the Maze couldn't be real. Now, traversing through the Scorch, Thomas notices everyone acting... twitchy. Saying strange things, straying from the group, losing their memories. Is anyone really who they say they are? Or are they just copies of the real Gladers? Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Salutations, fanfictionites (and Gladers)! **I saw the movie for The Maze Runner about a week ago, and decided there was no way in hell I wasn't going to read the books before The Scorch Trials movie was released. It took me about three and half days, and I've been on an emotional roller coaster ever since.

**Like many other readers of The Maze Runner Trilogy, I was completely broken by the events that unfolded.** I'm writing this to cope with everything that happened (specifically in The Death Cure). This is coming from a huge Thomesa/Tomesa shipper (can't decide which I like better), so** if are going to leave a review complaining about how much you hate Teresa and you have never liked her since she first came to the Glade, **(first of all, I'll spam you with hate mail, and then)** I'll dig a hole to Tartarus and slam dunk you into that pit. **The sass is real. Hopefully this story will change your view of her, and you'll forget all about (that _b!tch_ named) Brenda and Thomas ever being considered an item. _* shudder *_

**_You can read this story safely as long as you have either read the first book or you have watched the movie!_**

This first chapter is the first chapter of The Scorch Trials with additions from me all over the place, specifically on the conversation between Thomas and Teresa. **I do not own The Maze Runner Trilogy. The cover photo is not my property. All goes to their respective owners. I do own the additions made to the plot in the beginning, and after a couple chapters of setting up this story, it will be all my own writing. **Thanks for reading!

**Summary: **The time Thomas spent in the Maze couldn't have been real. He refused to believe that anyone with an ounce of humanity would kill Chuck. Not even Gally. Now, traversing through the Scorch, Thomas notices everyone acting... twitchy. Saying strange things, straying from the group, freezing mid-stride, randomly forgetting who they are and where they're at. Have the Creators seized control of all the Gladers sans Thomas, or is it just another test? Is anyone really who they say they are? Or are they just copies of the real Gladers? Thomesa.

* * *

**The A.C.T. Experiment: Chapter One**

* * *

She spoke to him before the world fell apart.

_Hey, are you still asleep?_

Thomas shifted in his bed, and he felt a darkness around him like air turned solid pressing in. At first he panicked. His eyes snapped open as he imagined himself back in the Box — that horrible cube of cold metal that had delivered him to the Glade and the Maze. But there was a faint light, and lumps of dim shadow gradually emerged throughout the huge room. Bunk beds. Dressers. The soft breaths and gurgly snores of boys deep in slumber.

Relief filled him. He was safe now, rescued and delivered to this dormitory. No more worries. No more Grievers. No more death. No more misery.

_Tom?_

A voice in his head. A girl's. Not audible, not visible. But he heard it all the same, though never could he have explained to anyone how it worked.

Exhaling a deep breath, he relaxed into his pillow, his razor-edged nerves settling down from that fleeting moment of terror. He spoke back, forming the words with his thoughts.

_Teresa? Is that you?_

_No, it's another girl who can speak with you telepathically. Yes, Tom, of course it's me. _He imagined her huffing and rolling her eyes sarcastically.

Thomas wasn't phased by her joking, in fact he'd expected it. It was something about Teresa he'd come to appreciate. _What time is it?_

_No idea_, she replied softly. _But I can't sleep. I probably dozed for an hour or so. Maybe more. I was __hoping you were awake to keep me company._

Thomas tried not to smile. Even though she wouldn't be able to see it, it would be embarrassing all the same. Even though they were no longer in immediate danger, it didn't feel like the right time to give in to his emotions. Teresa needed someone to be beside her through thick and thin, and that's exactly who Thomas would be for her.

_Didn't give me much choice in the matter, did you? Kind of hard to sleep when someone's talking directly into your skull._

_Waa, waa. Go back to bed, then._

Although Thomas was dead tired, he couldn't imagine leaving Teresa awake and alone. _No. I'm good._

He stared at the bottom of the bunk above him — featureless and darkly fuzzy in the shadow — where Minho was currently breathing like a guy with ungodly amounts of phlegm lodged in his throat.

_What've you been thinking about?_

_What do you think?_ Somehow she projected a jab of cynicism into the words. _I keep seeing Grievers._ _Their disgusting skin and blubber bodies, all those metal arms and spikes. It was way too close for comfort, Tom._ He could almost feel her shiver. _How're we gonna get something like that out of our heads?_

Thomas knew what he thought. That those images would never leave; the Gladers would be haunted indefinitely by the horrible things that had happened in the Maze for the rest of their lives. He figured that most, if not all of them, would have major psychological problems. Maybe even go completely off their rockers.

And above it all, Thomas had one image burned into his memories as strongly as a branded mark from a searing hot iron. His friend Chuck, stabbed in the chest, bleeding, dying as Thomas held him.

Thomas knew he would never forget that. How could anyone be so cruel? Sometimes, he doubted that reality. Not even Gally would so much as _think_ about killing Chuck, even if it meant getting back at Thomas.

Shaking his head, Thomas scolded himself for being in denial. He pushed the gnawing feeling that Chuck's death wasn't real on a mental back burner.

All he said to Teresa was:_ It'll go away. Just takes a little time, that's all._

_You're so full of it_, she said.

_I know. _

How ridiculous was it that he loved hearing her say something like that to him? That her sarcasm meant things were going to be okay? _You're an idiot_, he told himself, then mentally kicked himself, hoping she hadn't heard that thought.

_I hate that they separated me from you guys_, Teresa said, longing laced in her voice.

It was becoming more and more difficult not to jump out of his bunk and search for Teresa. Just to be with her for a couple minutes at the very least. Thomas understood why they had taken her away, though. She was the only girl and the rest of the Gladers were teenage boys—a bunch of shanks they didn't trust yet.

_Guess they were protecting you._

_Yeah. I guess._

Melancholy seeped into his brain with her words, stuck to them like syrup.

_But it sucks being alone after everything we went through. Where'd they take you, anyway?_ She sounded so sad that he, again, wanted to get up and look for her, but he knew better.

_Just on the other side of that big common room where we ate last night. It's a small room with a few bunks. I'm pretty sure they locked the door when they left. See, told ya they wanted to protect you_. Then he quickly added, _Not that you need protecting._ _I'd put my money on you against at least half these shanks._

_Only half?_

_Okay, three-quarters. Including me._

A long stretch of silence followed, though somehow Thomas could still sense her presence. He felt her. It was almost like how, even though he couldn't see Minho, he knew his friend lay only a few feet above him. And it wasn't just the snoring. When someone is close by, you just know it.

Despite all the memories of the last few weeks, Thomas was surprisingly calm, and soon sleep overpowered him once more. Darkness settled on his world, but she was there, next to him in so many ways. Almost… touching. Suddenly, he found himself appreciating one thing WICKED had done to him. This connection with Teresa was the only thing keeping him sane.

He had no concept of time passing while in that state. Half asleep, half enjoying her presence and the thought that they'd been rescued from that horrible place. That they were safe, that he and Teresa could get to know each other all over again, memories or not. That life could be good.

Blissful sleep. Hazy darkness. Warmth. A physical glow. Almost floating.

The world seemed to fade away. All became numb and sweet. And the darkness, somehow comforting. He slipped into a dream.

* * *

He's very young. Four, maybe? Five? Lying in a bed with blankets pulled to his chin.

A woman sits next to him, her hands folded in her lap. She has long brown hair, and her kind face is just beginning to show signs of age. Her eyes are sad. He knows this even though she's trying very hard to hide it with a warm smile.

He wants to say something, ask her a question. _Why was she sad? Had someone hurt her? _But he can't. He's not really here. Just witnessing it all from a place he doesn't quite understand. She begins to talk, a sound so simultaneously sweet and angry it disturbs him.

"I don't know why they chose you, but I do know this. You're special somehow. Never forget that. And never forget how much" — her voice cracks and tears run down her face, although she still smiles — "never forget how much I love you."

The boy replies, but it's not really Thomas speaking. Even though it is him. None of it makes sense.

"Are you gonna be crazy like all those people on TV, Mommy? Like… Daddy?"

The woman reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair, and she caresses his cheek softly. Woman? No, he can't call her that. This is his mother. His… mommy.

"Don't you worry about that, honey," she says. "You won't be here to see it."

Her smile has melted away.

* * *

Too fast the dream faded into blackness, leaving Thomas in a void with nothing but his thoughts. Had he seen another memory crawl up from the depths of his amnesia? Had he really seen his mom? There'd been something about his dad being crazy. Or... going crazy. The ache inside Thomas was deep and gnawing, and he tried to sink further into oblivion.

Later — how much later he had no idea — Teresa spoke to him again, bringing him back from his less than peaceful rest.

_Tom, something's wrong._

* * *

**Ending Author's Note: Like I said, next chapter or two will be roughly the same chapters as the novel so I can set up the story with my changes. From there, expect some major and exciting changes. Also, the title is a work in progress. So as you all read if you have any suggestions, just let me know!**

**Until the next chapter...**

**-A.M. Williams**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**** Welcome! Glad you decided to keep reading, y'all! Thanks to the people who followed and favorited this story and/or me.**

**Thanks Addison Blair, Zinnia99, and Reader (Guest) for reviewing!**

**Reader: **Glad you like it! Enjoy this chapter!

**(I will reply to Guest reviews in each new chapter.)**

**REMINDER: This chapter is from the original book, The Scorch Trials, with multiple edits from me. So I don't own this chapter completely. That belongs to the author of The Maze Runner Trilogy.**

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_**The A.C.T. Experiment: Chapter Two**_

* * *

That was how it started.

He heard Teresa say those three words, but it seemed from far away, as if spoken down a long and cluttered tunnel. His slumber had become a viscous liquid, thick and sticky, trapping him. He became aware of himself, but realized he was removed from the world, entombed by exhaustion.

He couldn't wake up.

_Thomas!_

She screamed it. A piercing rattle in his head.

_Tom, help me!_

He felt the first trickle of fear, but it was more like a dream. He could only sleep. Besides, they were safe now, nothing to worry about anymore. Yeah, it had to be a dream. Teresa was fine, they were all fine.

Thomas would see Teresa when he woke up and they all went to breakfast. He'd hug her, sit beside her, maybe make a plan for making it in this totally new world.

He relaxed again, let himself drown in slumber.

Other sounds snuck their way into his consciousness. Thumps. The clang of metal against metal. Something shattering. Boys shouting. More like the echo of shouts, very distant, muted. Suddenly, they became more like screams. Unearthly cries of anguish. But still distant. As if he'd been wrapped in a thick cocoon of dark velvet.

Finally, something pricked the comfort of sleep. This wasn't right. Teresa had called for him, told him something was wrong! He fought the deep sleep that had consumed him, clawed at the heavy weight pinning him down.

_Wake up!_ he yelled at himself. _Wake up!_

Teresa's voice, now disturbingly calm, rang in his skull.

_Tom, they're taking it away. I meant to tell you– _

Then something disappeared from inside him. There one instant, gone the next. He felt as if a major organ had just been ripped from his body.

It had been her. She was gone.

_Teresa!_ he screamed out with his mind. _Teresa! Are you there?!_

But there was nothing, and he no longer felt that comforting sense of her closeness.

_Taking what away, Teresa?! Teresa! Tell me what? Teresa? TERESA!_

He called her name again and again. No one answered him.

Finally, reality swept in, washed away the darkness. Engulfed in terror, Thomas opened his eyes and shot to a sitting position on his bed, scooted out until he got his feet under him and jumped up. He looked around the dorm room.

Everything had gone crazy.

The other Gladers in the room were running around, shouting. And terrible, horrible, awful sounds filled the air, like the wretched squeals of animals being tortured. There was Frypan, pointing out a window, his face pale. Newt and Minho were running to the door. Winston, hands held up to his frightened, acne-plagued face like he'd just seen a flesh-eating zombie. Others stumbling over each other to look out the different windows, but keeping their distance from the glass.

Achingly, Thomas realized he didn't even know most of the names of the twenty boys who'd survived the Maze, an odd thought to have in the middle of all that chaos.

Something at the corner of his eye made him turn to look toward the wall. What he saw immediately wiped away any peace and safety he'd felt talking to Teresa in the night. Made him doubt such emotions could even exist in the same world in which he now stood.

Three feet from his bed, draped by colorful curtains, a window looked out into a bright, blinding light. The glass was broken, jagged shards leaning against crisscrossed steel bars.

A man stood on the other side, gripping the bars with bloody hands. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, filled with madness. Sores and scars covered his thin, sun-burnt face. He had no hair, only diseased splotches of what looked like greenish moss. A vicious slit stretched across his right cheek; Thomas could see teeth through the raw, festering wound. Pink saliva dribbled in swaying lines from the man's chin.

"I'm a Crank!" the horror of a man yelled. "I'm a bloody Crank!"

And then he started screaming two words over and over and over, spit flying with every shriek.

"Kill me! Kill me! KILL ME!"

* * *

**Until the next chapter...**

**-A.M. Williams**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey to everyone who's continued reading! Your support is much appreciated. Thanks again for the new favorites and follows of both me and the story, now called _The A.C.T. Experiment_. That's originally what I wanted to call it, so I decided to roll with it. Still taking ideas for a new title, though! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to Marie, Kathleen, Illumination, Harley, and WhiteAngel for catching up with the story. Glad you ladies are finding another story of mine you like!**

**Addison Blair **(Ch. 2): This chapter will answer your questions!

**Thomesa Shipper **(Ch. 1): Glad you enjoy the ship as much as I do!

**Thomesa Shipper **(Ch. 2): Soon you, too, will be thinking, "Omg, what is going on?" As in, in this chapter.

**Guest **(Ch. 2): Thanks for reading!

**Anonymous **(Ch. 2): Yes, I am continuing until the very end of the second book, possibly the third book if this gets that much attention. I'm glad you enjoyed the summary! I tried not to give too much away as to what was going on, but I decided that this chapter should give everyone some insight. Brenda is a stupid whore. She shoved herself onto Thomas and I don't know why all the sudden **SPOILERS** he started accepting her and liking her when Teresa had been through everything with him since the beginning. It made me hate Thomas.

**This chapter is an original from me and when things in my story start going... a little _differently _than the book portrays.**

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**The A.C.T. Experiment: Chapter Three**

* * *

_A few moments earlier..._

She woke up immersed in icy blue water.

But she was breathing. An oxygen mask was securely strapped on to her head, covering her nose and mouth. The water wasn't freezing, rather it was warm and comfortable like she'd just hopped in here for a quick bath. Surrounding her was a curved glass wall, the bottom shaped like a bowl, the top open to the elements, as if she were in some giant test tube.

_Tom, something's wrong, _she said in her mind.

No answer.

Panic threatened to wash over her, but she suppressed it. She willed her legs and arms to move in order to swim to the top of the confined area, but she couldn't move a muscle. She was stuck looking straight ahead, only privy to what she could see in her blurry peripheral vision and her reflection in the glass.

Soothing currents caressed her skin, her body covered by only a pair of black undies and what she recalled as a tube top. Her black hair floated around her eerily. Familiar crystal blue eyes were starring back at her, brighter than usual due to the reflection of the water.

_Tom? _She called out in her mind.

Nothing. Still.

For a moment she worried that their connection had been severed, but she could still feel his presence.

_Tom, wake up._

The click of a door opening reverberated through the water. She squeezed her eyes shut. Three sets of footsteps, two light, the other heavy entered the room.

She had to strain her ears to hear the voices clearly through the water.

"... think it wise to bring her in here?" A deep voice asked scathingly.

A dreadfully familiar voice answered, "I'm the Chancellor, not you, Mr. Jansen."

_Thomas! _She screamed.

"Teresa cannot be trusted!" the voice growled in response. "There's no way she will lead Thomas where we want her to."

Her eyes almost opened at the sound of her name, but she managed to stay still. Not that she had a choice. She felt tingles in her arms and legs now, but whatever they had drugged her with still had a pretty heavy effect on her.

"But her clone will."

Teresa's eyes snapped open, and standing in front of her was...

_Herself?_

A scream ripped through her throat, leaving it raw.

_Tom, help me!_

The identical girl standing on the other side of the glass wasn't deterred by Teresa's scream. She moved her hand up to the glass, her fingers splayed across the surface. Her blue eyes took in Teresa's appearance, and her expression morphed from longing to confusion.

"Who is this?" the girl asked.

A woman with short, light brown hair walked up behind the girl, laying a hand on her shoulder. The Chancellor, Eva Paige.

"She is you, and you are her," the Chancellor answered.

She stepped away from the faux-Teresa and walked over to a control panel attached to Teresa's test tube chamber. The girl inside the glass was frantically trying to think of a way to escape. A few beeps sounded, and the blue water swirled down the glass container. Teresa sunk down to the bottom and propped herself up against the glass wall. Her legs shook, and it wasn't just because she was hardly able to support her own weight.

With a trembling hand, Teresa unstrapped the oxygen mask, dropping it on the floor. Then, somehow, the glass wall split vertically and slid open like a sliding door. Teresa attempted to take a step out of the entrance, but without her grip, she fell forward.

If the other Teresa hadn't caught her, she would've smashed her face on the cement floor.

Water pooled below her, and Teresa shivered against the cool air, her dark hair plastered to her face.

"W-what's going o-on?" Teresa said shakily.

The Chancellor walked over to her, now standing with the other Teresa's support.

"It's all about the Variables, Teresa. And keeping as many people out of danger that we can."

The other Teresa cocked her head.

"But-"

The light haired woman held up a hand. "We'll explain everything to you later. Now we are focused on Teresa."

"I'm Teresa!" The girl shouted.

A flash of silver.

A sharp sting in her arm as she cried out.

Bliss as the edges of her vision went blurry.

Someone carrying her to a table across the room that she hadn't noticed before.

Machines and surgical tools surrounding the metal table.

She knew what those machines did.

She'd seen it before.

_Tom, _she called out. _They're taking it away._

Her thoughts were surprisingly calm – probably something to do with the sedative – despite the fact she could possibly never wake up from this operation. She couldn't die without telling him. He needed to know.

_I meant to tell you_ –

Teresa was interrupted by yet another sharp pinch of a needle piercing her arm, and immediately her brain slowed down.

Later, she blamed her drugged state, but at the time she could've sworn the other Teresa standing beside her spoke into her head finishing her telepathic message to Tom, saying, _that I love you, Tom. Forever._

Somehow Teresa knew Tom didn't receive the last part of the message.

And he might never have the chance to ask.

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**Until the next chapter...**

**-A.M. Williams**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, y'all. How's the past week or so been for you? Hopefully filled with anticipation for this next chapter! This chapter goes back to Thomas and the other Gladers. These next few chapters will be alternated between Thomas and Teresa. If any of you are opposed to that, just let me know.**

**Eispodka: **Thank you very much! Enjoy the new chapter!

**Anonymous: **Thank you for such an awesome review. The hair pulling isn't over yet, though.

**Onto the new and exciting chapter!**

* * *

_**The A.C.T. Experiment: Chapter Four**_

* * *

A hand slammed down on Thomas's shoulder from behind; he cried out and spun around to see Minho staring past him at the maniac screaming through the window.

"They're everywhere," Minho said. His voice had a gloom to it that perfectly matched how Thomas felt. It seemed as if everything they'd dared hope for the previous night had dissolved to nothing. "And there's no sign of those shanks who rescued us," he added.

Thomas had lived in fear and terror the past few weeks, but this was almost too much. To feel safe only to have that snatched away again. Shocking even himself, though, he quickly set aside that small part of him that wanted to jump back into his bed and bawl his eyes out. He pushed away the lingering ache of remembering his mom and the stuff about his dad and people going crazy. Thomas knew that someone had to take charge – they needed a plan if they were going to survive this, too.

"Have any of them gotten in yet?" he asked, a strange calm washing over him. "Do all the windows have these bars?"

Minho nodded toward one of the many lining the walls of the long rectangular room. "Yeah. It was too dark to notice them last night, especially with those stupid frilly curtains. But I'm sure glad for 'em."

Thomas looked at the Gladers around them, some running from window to window to get a look outside, others huddling in small groups. Everyone had a look of half disbelief, half terror.

"Where's Newt?"

"Right here."

Thomas turned to see the older boy, not knowing how he'd missed him. "What's goin' on?"

"You think I have a bloody clue? Bunch of crazies want to eat us for breakfast, by the looks of it. We need to find another room, have a Gathering. All this noise is driving nails through my buggin' skull."

Thomas nodded absently; he agreed with the plan but hoped Newt and Minho would take care of it. He was eager to make contact with Teresa – he hoped her warning had just been part of a dream, a hallucination from the drug of deep and exhausted slumber. That her presence being ripped away was just part of a nightmare.

And that vision of his mom …

His two friends moved away, calling out and waving their arms to collect Gladers. Thomas took a tremulous glance back at the shredded madman at the window, then looked away immediately, wishing he hadn't reminded his brain of the blood and torn flesh, the insane eyes, the hysterical screaming.

Kill me! Kill me! _KILL ME!_

Thomas stumbled to the farthest wall, leaned heavily against it.

_Teresa_, he called out again with his mind. _Teresa. Can you hear me?_

He waited, closing his eyes to concentrate. Reaching out with invisible hands, trying to grasp some trace of her. Nothing. Not even a passing shadow or brush of feeling, much less a response.

_Teresa_, he said more urgently, clenching his teeth with the effort. _Where are you? What happened?_

Nothing. His heart seemed to slow until it almost stopped, and he felt like he'd swallowed a jumbo cotton ball. Teresa was gone.

He opened his eyes to see the Gladers gathered around the green-painted door that led to the common area where they'd eaten pizza the night before. Minho was jerking on the round brass handle to no avail.

Locked. The only other door was to a shower and locker room, from which no other exits existed. There was that, and the windows. All with those metal bars. Thank goodness. Each one had raging lunatics screaming and yelling on the other side.

Even though worry ate at him like spilled acid in his veins, Thomas gave up momentarily on trying to contact Teresa and joined the other Gladers. Newt was having a go at the door, with the same useless result.

"It's locked," he muttered when he finally gave up, his arms falling weakly to his sides.

"Really, genius?" Minho said, his powerful arms folded and tensed, veins bulging all over the place. Thomas thought for a split second he could actually see the blood pumping through them. "No wonder you were named after Isaac Newton – such an amazing ability to think."

A bitter expression crossed Thomas' features as he recalled his discovery of WICKED giving all the boys fake names. Thomas named after Thomas Edison. Alby after Albert Einstein. It sickened him, twisting his stomach as the longing for some amount of truth in this shucked up world washed over him.

Newt wasn't in the mood. Or maybe he'd just learned long ago to ignore Minho's smart-aleck remarks.

"Let's break this bloody handle off." He looked around as if he expected someone to give him a sledgehammer.

"I wish those shucking... Cranks would shut up!" Minho yelled, turning to glower at the closest one, a woman who looked even more hideous than the first man Thomas had seen. A bleeding wound crossed her face, ending on the side of her head.

"Cranks?" Frypan repeated.

The hairy cook had been silent until then, barely noticeable. Thomas thought he looked even more frightened than when they'd been about to battle the Grievers to escape the Maze. Maybe this was worse. When they'd settled into bed last night, everything had seemed good and safe. Yeah, maybe this was worse, to have that suddenly taken away.

Minho pointed at the screaming, bloody woman. "That's what they keep calling themselves. Haven't you heard it?"

"I don't care if you call 'em pussy willows," Newt snapped. "Find me something to break through this stupid door!"

"Here," a shorter boy said, carrying a slender but solid fire extinguisher he'd taken off the wall.

Thomas remembered seeing it earlier. Again, he felt guilty for not even knowing this kid's name.

Newt grabbed the red cylinder, ready to pile-drive the door handle. Thomas stood as close as he could, eager to see what was on the other side of the door, though he had a very bad feeling that whatever it was, they weren't going to like it.

Newt lifted the extinguisher, then slammed it down on the round brass handle. The loud crack was accompanied by a deeper crunch, and it took only three more whacks before the entire unit of the handle crashed to the floor with a jangle of broken metal pieces. The door inched outward, cracked open just enough to show darkness on the other side.

Newt stood quietly, staring at that long, narrow gap of blackness as if he expected demons from the underworld to come flying through. Absently, he handed the extinguisher back to the boy who'd found it.

"Let's go," he said. Thomas thought he heard the slightest quaver in his voice.

"Wait," Frypan called out. "We sure we wanna go out there? Maybe that door was locked for a

reason."

Thomas couldn't help but agree; something felt wrong about this.

Minho stepped up to stand right next to Newt; he looked back at Frypan, then made eye contact with Thomas.

"What else're we gonna do? Sit here and wait for those loonies to get in? Come on."

"Those freaks aren't breaking through the window bars anytime soon," Frypan retorted. "Let's just think for a second."

"Time for thinking's done," Minho said.

He kicked out with his foot and the door swung completely open; if anything, it seemed to grow even darker on the other side.

"Plus, you should've spoken up before we blasted the lock to bits, slinthead. Too late now."

"I hate when you're right," Frypan grumbled under his breath.

Thomas couldn't quit staring past the open door, into the pool of inky darkness. He felt a now-all-too-familiar clench of apprehension, knowing that something had to be wrong or the people who'd rescued them would've come for them a long time ago. But Minho and Newt were right – they had to go out there and find some answers.

"Shuck it," Minho said. "I'll go first."

Without waiting for a response he walked through the open door, his body vanishing in the gloom almost instantly. Newt gave Thomas a hesitant look, then followed. For some reason Thomas thought it should be up to himto go next, so he did.

Step by step, he left the dorm room and entered the darkness of the common area, hands reaching out in front of him.

The glow of light coming from behind didn't do much to illuminate things; he might as well have been walking with his eyes squeezed shut. And the place smelled. Horrible.

Minho yelped up ahead, then called back. "Whoa, be careful. Something… weird's hanging from the

ceiling."

Thomas heard a slight squeak or groan, something creaking. As if Minho had bumped into a low hanging chandelier, sending it swaying back and forth. A grunt from Newt somewhere to the right was followed by the squeal of metal dragging across the floor.

"Table," Newt announced. "Watch out for tables."

Frypan spoke up behind Thomas. "Does anyone remember where the light switches were?"

"That's where I'm heading," Newt responded. "I swear I remember seeing a set of them somewhere over here."

Thomas continued walking blindly forward. His eyes had adjusted a little; where before, everything had been a wall of blackness, now he could see traces of shadows against shadows. Yet something was off. He was still a little disoriented, but things seemed to be in places they shouldn't be. It was almost as if –

"Bluh-huh-huh," Minho groaned, a shudder of repulsion, like he'd just stepped in a pile of klunk.

Another creaking sound cut through the room.

Before Thomas could ask what had happened, he bumped into something himself. Hard. Awkwardly shaped. The feel of cloth.

"Found it!" Newt shouted.

A few clicks were heard; then the room suddenly blazed with fluorescent lights, temporarily blinding Thomas. He stumbled away from the thing he'd bumped into, rubbing his eyes, ran into another stiff figure, sent it swaying away from him.

"Whoa!" Minho yelled.

Thomas squinted; his vision cleared. He forced himself to look at the scene of horror around him.

Throughout the large room, people hung from the ceiling – at least a dozen. They'd all been strung up by the neck, the ropes twisted and trenched into purple, bloated skin. The stiff bodies swung to and fro ever so slightly, pale pink tongues lolling out of their white-lipped mouths. All of them had eyes open,though glazed over with certain death. By the looks of it, they'd been that way for hours. Their clothes and some of their faces looked familiar.

Thomas dropped to his knees.

He knew these dead people.

They were the ones who'd rescued the Gladers. Just the day before.

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**Until the next chapter...**

**-Aurora Marie Williams**


	5. Chapter 5

**Since "y'all" is (apparently) not a politically correct greeting... HELLO. (That's right. I'm talking to you, A.) Hope you've all had a great week... And month and a half. Sorry for not posting for so long, but I was going through some crap, and then it got better, and now everything's grand, so here I am!**

**Anonymous (Guest): **Bet you'll pull your hair in this one! Enjoy the chapter, and thanks for being such an awesome reviewer.

**Addison Blair (sign in, King Goober): **The dead people currently hanging from the ceiling are the people that rescued them at the end of the first book and movie. The people then (in the book) took them to this hostel/dorm building which is where they are at now. Thank you for reviewing again!

**Thomesa Shipper: **Uh... Yeah... About that explaining... Hehe. Don't kill me.

Many thanks to **nounoupotter, May a Chance,** **QueenOfHearts143, Zinnia99, **and **Oblivion16 **for reviewing!

Keep the reviews coming guys! It's so cool to see everyone's reactions to what I'm posting. Love every one of you!

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**The A.C.T. Experiment: Chapter Five**

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The moment Teresa opened her eyes, she immediately regretted her decision.

Harsh, blue-tinted lights burned through her eyes and into her skull which ached with the power of a thousand power drills.

Snapping her eyes shut didn't block out the light completely, but it did dull the pain in her head. It was then Teresa heard muffled groaning.

_Fantastic_, she thought. _Hello, lights._

Looking up and down on her right, Teresa saw nothing except a white wall, silver counter tops, and a fire extinguisher. Groggily, she looked to her left, her forehead chafing against the strap holding her head against the freezing metal table she was still strapped to.

Across from Teresa, on an identical table, was a young boy with curly hair. Her heart stopped beating. She blinked twice to make sure she was seeing this boy right. But no... It couldn't be.

But it was.

Terrified dark eyes bore into Teresa's, and a white cloth was tied around his mouth.

_He was supposed to be dead._

She had seen him dive in front of Thomas.

She had looked on helplessly as the knife lodged in his chest.

She had watched him bleed out on the floor.

So badly she wished she could reach out and hold his hand. Comfort him, apologize to him. The things he went through... No kid should ever have to suffer like he had.

But to be here? _Alive_? What the shuck was going on here? His name left her lips in a hoarse whisper.

"_Chuck_?"

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**Whoa my gosh, what is happening? Hahahahha! I'd love to hear your ideas about what you think is going on! Like why is Chuck alive? And why is Teresa and Chuck strapped down to metal tables? So many crazy things happening, so many crazy things yet to be revealed.**

**Until the next chapter!**

**-A.M. Williams**


	6. Chapter 6

**I appreciate the positive responses to the last chapter!**

**Denim: **Yes, you most definitely can help with the dunking into Tartarus. Thank you so much for such a fabulous and enthusiastic review. I dearly hope you read and enjoy this story. There is so much I have in store for you guys, so stay tuned. Thanks again!

**Addison: **No evil possessed Chuck here! He'll definitely put a twist to the story though with the information he has to give to Teresa.

**Thanks to the new favorites and follows of me and this story! Have fun reading!**

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_**Chapter Six: The A.C.T. Experiment**_

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Thomas tried not to look at any of the dead bodies as he stood up. He half walked, half stumbled over to Newt, who was still by the bank of light switches, his terrified gaze darting between the corpses hanging throughout the room.

Minho joined them, swearing under his breath. Other Gladers were emerging from the dorm room, shouting as they realized what they were seeing; Thomas heard a couple of them throw up, gagging and spitting. He felt the sudden urge himself, but fought it. What had happened? How could everything be taken away from them so fast? His stomach tightened up as despair threatened to bowl him over.

Then he remembered Teresa.

_Teresa!_ he called out with his mind. _Teresa!_ Again and again, mentally screaming it with his eyes closed and jaw clenched. _Where are you?!_

"Tommy," Newt said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "What the bloody hell's wrong with you?"

Thomas opened his eyes, realized he was doubled over, arms wrapped around his stomach. He slowly straightened, tried to push away the panic eating him inside. "What … what do you think? Look around us."

"Yeah, but you looked like you were in pain or something."

"I'm fine – just trying to reach her in my mind. But I can't." He wasn't fine. He hated reminding the others that he and Teresa could speak telepathically. And if all these people were dead … "We've gotta find where they put her," he blurted out, grasping urgently for a task to clear his mind.

He scanned the room, trying his best not to focus on the corpses, looking for a door that might lead to her room. She'd said it was across the common area from where they'd all slept.

There. A yellow door with a brass handle.

"He's right," Minho said to the group. "Spread out, find her!"

"Might've already." Thomas was on the move, surprised at how quickly he'd recovered his senses. He ran toward the door, dodging tables and bodies. She had to be in there, safe like they'd been. The door was closed; that was a good sign. Probably locked. Maybe she'd fallen into a deep sleep like him. That was why she'd been quiet, unresponsive.

He had almost reached the door when he remembered that they might need something to break into the room.

"Someone grab that fire extinguisher!" he yelled over his shoulder. The smell in the common area was horrendous; he gagged as he sucked in a deep breath.

"Winston, go get it," Minho ordered behind him.

Thomas reached the door first and tried the handle. It didn't budge, locked tight. Then he noticed a small, clear-plastic display hanging on the wall to the right, about five inches square. A sheet of paper had been slipped into the thin slot, several words typed on its surface.

**Teresa Agnes. GroupA, Subject Al.**

**The Betrayer.**

Oddly, the thing that stood out the most to Thomas was Teresa's last name. Or at least, what appeared to be her last name. Agnes. He didn't know why, but it surprised him. Teresa Agnes. He couldn't think of anyone within the splotchy knowledge of history floating in his still-scarce memories who matched that name. He himself had been renamed after Thomas Edison, the great inventor. But Teresa Agnes? He'd never heard of her.

Of course, all their names were more of a joke than anything, probably a callous way for the Creators – WICKED or whoever had done this to them – to distance themselves from the real people they'd stolen from real mothers and fathers. Thomas couldn't wait until the day he learned what he'd been called at birth, what name lay stamped in the minds of his parents, whoever they were. Wherever they were.

The sketchy memories he'd initially regained from going through the Changing had made him think that he didn't have parents who loved him. That whoever they were, they didn't want him. That he'd been taken from horrible circumstances. But now he refused to believe it, especially after having dreamed about his mom during the night.

Minho snapped his fingers in front of Thomas's eyes. "Hello? Calling Thomas? Not a good time to daydream. Lots of dead bodies, smells like Frypan's pits. Wake up."

Thomas turned to him. "Sorry. Just thought it was weird that Teresa's last name was Agnes."

Minho clucked his tongue. "Who cares about that? What's this freakin' stuff about her being the Betrayer?"

"And what's 'Group A, Subject A1' mean?" This was Newt, who handed over the fire extinguisher to Thomas. "Anyway, your turn to break a buggin' door handle."

Thomas grabbed it, suddenly angry at himself for wasting even a few seconds thinking about the stupid label. Teresa was in there, and she needed their help. Trying not to be bothered by the word betrayer, he gripped the cylinder and slammed it against the brass knob. A jolt ran up his arms as the clang of metal against metal rang through the air. He'd felt it give a little, and two smashes later the handle fell off and the door popped open an inch or two.

Thomas threw the extinguisher to the side and grabbed the door, swung it all the way out. Itchy anticipation mixed with dread at what he might find. He was the first to step into the lighted room.

It was a smaller version of the boys' dorm, just four bunk beds, two dressers and a closed door, presumably leading to another bathroom. All the beds were made up nicely except one, its blankets tossed to the side and a pillow hanging off the edge, the sheet rumpled. But there was no sign of Teresa.

"Teresa!" Thomas called out, his throat straining with panic as he yelled.

The swirly, swooshing sound of a toilet flushing came through the closed door and a sudden relief burst through Thomas. It was so strong he almost had to sit down. She was here, she was safe. He steadied himself and started walking toward the bathroom, but Newt reached out and grabbed his arm.

"You're used to living with a bunch of boys," Newt said. "I don't think it's polite to go stomping into the bloody ladies' room. Just wait till she comes out."

"Then we need to get everybody in here and have a Gathering," Minho added. "It doesn't stink in here, and there aren't any windows for Cranks to scream at us."

Thomas hadn't noticed the lack of windows until that moment, though it should've been the most obvious thing, considering the chaos of their own dorm room. Cranks. He'd almost forgotten.

"I wish she'd hurry up," he murmured.

"I'll get everyone over here," Minho said; he turned and walked back into the common area.

Thomas stared at the bathroom door. Newt and Frypan and a few other Gladers pushed their way into the room and took seats on the beds, all of them leaning forward, elbows on knees, rubbing their hands together absently, the anxiety and worry evident in their body language.

_Teresa?_ Thomas said in his mind. _Can you hear me? We're waiting for you out here_.

No response. And he still felt that bubble of emptiness, as if her presence itself had been permanently taken away.

There was a click. The handle on the door to the bathroom turned; then the door opened, swinging toward Thomas. He stepped forward, ready to pull Teresa into a hug – he didn't care who was there to see it. But the person who walked into the dorm room wasn't Teresa. Thomas stopped mid-stride and almost tripped. Everything inside him seemed to fall.

It was a boy.

He wore the same kind of clothes they'd all been given the night before – clean pajamas with a button-up shirt and flannel pants, light blue. He had olive skin, and his dark hair was cut surprisingly short. The look of innocent surprise on his face was the only thing that prevented Thomas from grabbing the shank by the collar and shaking him until some answers came out.

"Who are you?" Thomas asked, not caring that the words sounded harsh.

"Who am I?" the boy responded, somewhat sarcastically. "Who are you?"

Newt had gotten back to his feet, actually standing even closer to the new guy than Thomas was. "Don't bloody mess around. There are a lot more of us than there are of you. Tell us who you are."

The boy folded his arms, a defiance coming over his whole body. "Fine. My name's Aris. What else you wanna know?"

Thomas wanted to punch the guy. Him acting all high and mighty while Teresa was _missing_. "How'd you get here? Where's the girl who slept here last night?"

"Girl? What girl? I'm the only one here, and it's been that way since they put me here last night."

Thomas turned to point back in the direction of the door to the common area. "There's a sign right out there that says this is her room. Teresa … Agnes. No mention of a shank named Aris."

Something in his tone must've made the boy realize this wasn't a joke. He held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about. They put me in here last night, Islept in that bed" – he pointed to the one with the rumpled sheet and blanket – "and I woke up about five minutes ago and took a pee. Never heard the name Teresa Agnes in my life. Sorry."

The brief moment of relief Thomas had felt when he'd heard the toilet flush officially shattered. He shared a look with Newt, not knowing what to ask next.

Newt shrugged slightly, then turned back to Aris. "Who put you in here last night?"

Aris threw his arms up in the air, then let them come back down and slap against his sides. "I don't even know, man. A bunch of people with guns who rescued us, told us everything would be okay now."

"Rescued you from what?" Thomas asked. This was getting weird. Really, really weird.

Aris looked down at the floor and his shoulders fell. It looked as if a wave of some terrible memory had washed over him. He sighed, then finally looked back up at Thomas and answered.

"From the Maze, man. From the Maze."

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**Until the next chapter...**

**-A.M. Williams**


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